


Falling With Style

by Fire_Bear



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depressing, Depression, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depressed Arthur Kirkland wakes up on his birthday expecting his family to be there with breakfast in bed, a small pile of presents and a few cards. However, when none of that happens, he thinks they have forgotten their useless son and everything starts to spiral downwards...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling With Style

**Author's Note:**

> I've rated this a Teen and Up because it's not that violent but if you think it should be upped, you should probably let me know. I'm still getting used to this site. 
> 
> WARNINGS: This entire story talks of depression and attempted suicide. It's probably written badly, too.

An alarm clock screeched beside Arthur and he groaned, flapping his arm around to find it without opening his eyes: he didn't want to wake this early. Finally, his hand whacked the clock and it was silenced. Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur rolled over and pulled the covers up to his chin, tucking himself into a roll. It was definitely way too early to wake up on his birthday...

Blinking, the teenager opened his eyes fully and looked over at the window where his pale, blue curtains were still drawn. That was odd. Every birthday for the past seventeen years of his life, his parents had woken him with presents and smiles and breakfast. Had they slept in? They had been working very hard recently and they may have missed their alarm blaring.

So, with a yawn, Arthur rolled himself out of bed, glanced at his clock (a full hour to get ready for school), and padded out of his room. He could hear people moving around down in the kitchen and, instead of heading for his parents' bedroom as he had been intending, he began to descend the stairs, a hand lightly trailing along the bannister. Perhaps he had woken earlier than they expected and they were still making his breakfast.

However, when he entered the room, he only found three people. One, a tall redhead, was his eldest brother who didn't live with them any more, yet always seemed to find the time to bug Arthur. Another, younger redhead sat at the kitchen table, playing with the youngest sibling, a little boy of seven who looked a lot like Arthur.

“Where are Mum and Dad?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “And what are you doing here, Andrew?”

“Mum and Dad are at work – they had to rush off or something,” answered his brother as he flipped a couple of slices of bacon and a fried egg onto a plate. “They asked me to look after the young 'uns till they need to get to school.”

Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes. He was perfectly capable of taking care of the younger ones. Or... had he become as worthless in his parents' eyes as in everyone else's. Biting his lip, he held back a sudden need to cry – he wouldn't give Andrew the satisfaction. Hurriedly, before he felt any worse at how silly he was being, he moved forward to take the plate. Before he could touch it, though, it was whisked away.

“What d'ya think you're doing?” demanded Andrew, holding the plate out of reach. “This is my breakfast. Get yer own.” He paused and suddenly grinned, a sparkle in his eyes. “Or do you still burn everything you touch?”

If possible, that made Arthur feel worse. Instead of crying, though, he became defensive. “I do not!” he snapped. “And what do _you_ care? You don't live with me!” Andrew's grin seemed to waver but Peter interrupted.

“He's lucky, Jerk.”

Turning his glare on his little brother, he snapped at him, too. “Well, _you_ don't need to eat _my_ breakfast!” With that, he spun on his heel and left the room, stomping up the stairs.

“Where are you going?!” called Andrew as Sean laughed and chanted “Jerk!”

“To my room! What's it to you?!”

“What about breakfast?”

“I'm not hungry!” Arthur snapped, slamming his bedroom door. It took a few seconds for him to calm down and, once he had, he realised something odd. No-one had wished him a happy birthday. There were no presents or cards.

They had all forgotten what day it was.

* * *

 

Instead of waiting for his brothers to be ready for the short drive to school, Arthur decided to walk there. He ended up arriving far earlier than normal and he stared up at the dull, sprawling building. There was no-one else around except for, perhaps, the janitors and maybe one or two teachers. Sighing, he strode forward: he may as well go in.

Stopping by his locker, he sorted himself out for the first few classes before he decided to go for a wander. He paced his way along the silent corridors, thinking. Maybe he really was a waste of space, taking up air and food. After all, he was the fourth son of his parents and they had six in total. If he wasn't around, would they have been better off? Maybe his birthday wasn't a celebration; rather, it was probably a curse.

After all, he couldn't do anything of interest. He wasn't part of a sports team. Granted, that was because they were attending a school which didn't have a football team – not the American version, the normal one. That was the only sport he would have been comfortable playing in a team. In fact, he didn't practice any sport and he couldn't swim. As such, he wasn't as popular as the great quarterback, Alfred F. Jones, or the hockey king, Matthew Williams.

Nothing he did garnered him attention – except for his English accent which girls had long since stopped swooning over. He always felt awkward trying to flirt with people and so he couldn't be as charming as Lovino Vargas or Antonio Fernández Carriedo. And there was certainly no way he could beat Francis Bonnefoy at his own game. Not that he wanted to: he preferred not having to constantly put up with wide-eyed idiots.

He didn't feel that he was all that smart, either. After all, when he sat in Maths classes and discovered a problem he was incapable of getting right first time, he would have to hold back tears. Arthur had told himself many times that he was being silly, getting worked up over something so small, but it killed him when he made small mistakes in his History homework or misread a question in his haste to complete it. Kiku Honda or Lukas Bondevik would never do such things, he knew.

And he certainly couldn't be creative. Feliciano Vargas made such beautiful paintings yet Arthur's were miserable in comparison. The poor Italian had tried to comfort him once when he had realised his was horrible, had told him it was amazing, but Arthur had shouted at him, making him run off. Later, it transpired that he had gone to his brother, crying, and he and the Beilschmidts turned up to chastise him. Arthur had felt even worse than in the classroom when it had first started.

Realising that his thoughts (which would often circle around these topics) were spiralling him downwards, he shook his head to clear it. It would do no good to think like that. If he wanted to get better, he would just have to work for it. _Not that he would get better..._

Suddenly, Arthur walked straight into someone taller and broader than him. He stumbled backwards a few steps and looked up. His eyes widened as they met familiar steely grey eyes and a horrible sneer. It was Jack, a member of the American football team, as his varsity jacket proclaimed. Girls apparently fell for him left, right and centre, if his bragging was accurate. But the one thing Arthur was sure of was that he was a horrible, terrible bully.

“Hey! Watch where you're going Eyebrow Face!” Jack snapped.

Immediately, Arthur's spirits dropped. It was his birthday, for God's sake, and he was still going to be bullied?! However, he wouldn't let anyone have the satisfaction of knowing how upset he was. “Leave me alone, arsehole. You should've been looking where you were going, too!”

“What was that?” growled the footballer, his sneer morphing into a frown. “What did you just say?”

With the vague feeling that he was about to be pummelled, Arthur decided it would be best to get out of there. “None of your business!” he snapped.

Another growl came from Jack as he lurched forward in an attempt to grab Arthur. However, Arthur was quicker and darted around him. Without looking behind him, he ran. Students were trickling into the building by that point and the corridors were beginning to fill. They stared as he hurried past, dodging around a corner and then dashing around the next one. Spotting the toilets, he rushed towards them, hoping to be able to lock himself in a stall before Jack caught him, if he was still following. He held out his hand as he ran to it in an effort to push the door open as he reached it instead of pausing to do so. Bracing himself for the push, his hand pressed against it just as it was opened from the inside. Arthur almost toppled through.

“Woah!” cried a horribly familiar voice. “Kirky! What's up?”

Arthur raised his eyes to glare at Alfred, someone he deemed as bad as the bullies, seeing as he laughed along instead of stopping the torment. “Nothing. I'm going to the loo so get out of the way.”

Alfred stepped aside but didn't leave, watching Arthur hurry to the furthest stall. Arthur hoped he would leave him alone but his luck didn't seem to be with him today – if he had had any to begin with. The American let the door swing shut and followed him over before he spoke. “You look real cranky. What's got you all hot and bothered?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” snarled Arthur, pulling the door to the stall closed. Quickly locking it, he let the lid to the toilet seat drop and sat on it, pulling his knees to his chest. Hopefully, Alfred would leave and Jack wouldn't find him before class. He honestly felt like crying – but he couldn't do that whilst people were still in the room. As it was, he took a few deep breaths and willed the tears already gathering in his eyes back down.

“Really, Arthur, are you-?” Alfred got no further as the door to the room was flung open, almost being embedded into the wall with the force applied.

“Are you in-? Al?” came Jack's voice. Arthur eyed the door, waiting for someone to start thumping it – or, worse, find a way to open it.

“Yeah?”

“Huh. Is Eyebrows in here?”

There was a short pause before Alfred confidently replied. “Nah. Not seen him. Why, what's up?” Arthur frowned as he listened to Alfred's voice retreating. Was he leaving? Would Jack go with him?

Thankfully, it was the latter. He barely heard Jack begin to say, “The little fucker-” before the door swung closed and shut out the rest of the conversation.

Arthur didn't understand why Alfred had lied for him. Did he think that he couldn't take care of himself? Well, Arthur supposed he was right. He _was_ hopeless. As these sorts of thoughts circled in his mind, Arthur leant his forehead against his knees. He took several deep breaths through his nose. There was no way he was going to cry here: he refused to cry where someone could find him.

* * *

 

His day didn't get any better with the usual mocking being directed at him. No-one helped Arthur or stood up for him – probably because he would have snapped at them. Either he had to yell back insults or take it quietly. As the day wore on, he started to lean towards the latter: what was the point in arguing? They were right. He was ugly and worthless and nobody liked him. There was nobody to befriend him.

It was in his English class that the answer to all his troubles came. They were studying Romeo and Juliet this year. Arthur disliked the play. He'd read it before and thought Romeo was an idiot. Poor Juliet! Really, he would rather study King Lear or Titus Andronicus or even Hamlet-

With wide eyes, Arthur recalled a particular soliloquy from the play. _To be or not to be._ Something like relief spread through him and he could feel himself relaxing. He didn't smile, though. What if someone figured out what he was planning? What if they stopped him? Arthur didn't think he could handle that. It was bad enough that he would have to wait until the class had finished.

Though, how would he do it? If he wanted to use painkillers or some other sort of drug, he would have to wait until he got home. But he didn't want to face his parents if he was useless enough to muck it up. Maybe he could walk out into traffic – but that wouldn't guarantee his death if someone stopped to 'save' him. He needed to think of something which would be impossible to stop and impossible to survive.

Suppressing a sigh, Arthur looked out of the window. They were on the first floor and he could see the memorial trees swaying in the breeze. It was rather warm in the building and Arthur wished he could be outside to feel the wind tugging at his hair. That was when it occurred to him what he could do. He looked upwards and planned his escape from the school body. No-one would notice him disappearing at the end of the day, anyway.

* * *

 

The door to the school's roof was easy enough for anyone to find. Through a nondescript door in the corner of the second floor and up a flight of stairs. Another door – this one harder to open, as if it was rusted – and, finally, he was where he wanted to be. The space was huge, the grey stone flat except for the raised parts of the wall at the edge. A fence had been erected atop it and Arthur scowled: he would have to find a way past that.

Moving to the edge, he looked down and watched as students departed. There were still lots of them, chattering amongst themselves and perhaps making plans for the weekend which they would fine-tune the following day. Arthur just wanted them to all leave. None of them deserved to see his last moments.

As he waited, he lifted his head and smiled at the wind which ruffled his hair and pulled his clothes. He spread his arms and imagined that he was flying, speeding through the air, plummeting to the end of everything. A smile slowly formed on his face, happy with his decision. All the pain would end soon. There was no use in taking up arms against his troubles – there were too many of them. He would fail.

When he opened his eyes again, only a few minutes had passed. There were still unruly teenagers below. In fact, he was sure he could spot the football team hanging around. Was there something on today? Well, they would be the only ones to watch him hit the ground.

Turning from them, Arthur gazed around the space he was standing in. It was huge, really. He wondered what it would look like with plants, a flourishing garden. Glancing at the trees he had watched earlier, he debated whether he should leave a note to ask them to make this place into a memorial instead of planting a great, ruddy oak.

A note. He still hadn't written one. Then again, he wasn't sure what he would say. He didn't want to put the blame on someone. Surely they would feel horrible if he specifically stated that he had jumped because Jack had been bullying him. That could ruin someone's life, especially his family's.

At the thought of his family, he swallowed. They would likely be devastated – or would they? Arthur really wasn't sure any more and with his thoughts spinning, he didn't want to actively find out the answer. Maybe it would be answered in the next life, in a lovely dream.

Unless it became a nightmare.

He shook his head. No. He would not be deterred. Walking along the fence, he looked for a gap or damage. If he didn't find any, he might have to go back downstairs to steal a tool from the Mechanics classrooms.

“Aha!” he said when he found the edge of part of the wire fence. It was bent outwards, as if someone had fallen against it and damaged it. He grabbed it with both hands and was about to pull the wire away from the brick when a voice startled him.

“Artie! Hey, whatcha doing?!”

Spinning around (and dropping his bag in the process), Arthur found Alfred standing by the door. Arthur's heart clenched in both relief and pain. The quarterback was grinning and looking particularly proud of himself which irritated Arthur. “What are you doing here?” Arthur demanded, afraid that Alfred was going to stop him.

“Looking for you,” was the answer. “Jack was totally gonna whale on you after school but I managed to convince him you'd probably left, right? But I knew you hadn't 'cause I hadn't seen you at your locker, 'cause it's near mine, y'know? So I came back in to find you. And I saw the door was open” - Alfred jerked his thumb over his shoulder - “so I came up and found you! Ain't I a regular Sherlock?”

Arthur snorted. “Hardly. Well, now you've found me, kindly leave me alone.”

“Huh? Why? Whatcha doing up here?”

Frantically, Arthur searched for an excuse; if Alfred knew what he was about to do, he would surely stop him. “Uh, well...” The image of a beautiful garden and sanctuary for students popped into his head again as his eyes darted around the space they stood in. “Looking to see if we can make a roof garden.”

“Really? That sounds awesome!”

Blinking in surprise, Arthur tilted his head. “Really?” Alfred had never expressed interest in Arthur before – beyond jabs at his eyebrows and him being uptight. This was very confusing and was causing Arthur's head to spin again. If only Alfred had waited a few more minutes, he wouldn't have to deal with this.

“Yeah! It'd be cool to come up here and escape the cafeteria at lunch, yeah?”

Shrugging, Arthur said, “Sure. Now, can you leave-?”

“Nope!”

Glaring with all his might, Arthur gritted his teeth and willed himself to have the strength to deal with this. He was beginning to feel light-headed. Why couldn't the idiot just _leave_? “Why not?”

“Dude, c'mon.” Alfred laughed. “Jack could be waiting for you along the road, just in case you've been hiding. I'm gonna be your hero and drive you home!”

“I don't need to be dri-”

“I'm not taking no for an answer! C'mon!” With that, Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrist and began to tug him towards the door. Away from the edge. Arthur was so shocked he didn't resist, letting Alfred pull him further and further from his salvation.

Or was Alfred his saviour?

With his thoughts spinning, Arthur made half-hearted grunts in response to whatever Alfred was chattering about. The halls were empty by that point and their footsteps echoed in the gaps between Alfred's prattling. They passed a janitor and Alfred waved at him cheerily. Arthur was surprised to see the man wave back.

Finally, they exited the school building. Arthur looked towards where he would have landed had he jumped. The ground appeared hard and unforgiving and he suddenly didn't feel like jumping any more. That could have been messy.

Yet, he still didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be pushed into the passenger seat of Alfred's truck. He didn't want to have to listen to him asking about the garden if he remembered. He didn't want to see his family.

There were pills. Pills were in the medicine cabinet. If he could get into the house unnoticed... No, wait. Andrew would probably be at his flat, if he wasn't picking up his younger brothers from their after-school activities. And his parents were likely too busy to be home. So Arthur would be alone. He could take them in peace.

The car slowed to a stop and Arthur blinked out of his reverie. He had been so absorbed, he had barely noticed them moving. There was a silence, something else he hadn't noticed. Looking around, he found Alfred staring back at him, his glasses glinting in the sun.

“Hey, man, you okay?” asked the teenager, looking a little concerned.

“I'm fine- Wait, why have you turned off the engine?” asked Arthur, brow furrowing. “You're only dropping me off.”

“Ah.” Alfred brightened, smiling again. “I'm thirsty! Can I come in for a drink?”

“Hell no,” answered Arthur, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Aw, c'mon. I'll be, like, two seconds, tops.”

“No you won't. Because you're not coming in.” Arthur opened the door.

“But _Artie_!” whined Alfred. “I'm gonna die of thirst on the way home. Please, please, please, please, please!”

Arthur could feel his will breaking – it did that easily these days. He sighed as he hopped down from his seat. “Fine. But you can only stay for one drink. My family will be home soon, you know.”

“Awesome!” cried Alfred and practically bounded from the vehicle. Arthur sighed and swung the door closed. After Alfred had locked it, Arthur led him up the path to his house. It was a rather large one, befitting of their crowded family. However, it was beginning to look a little dirty – someone was going to have to look into its upkeep, seeing as Arthur's mum and dad were generally too busy to deal with it themselves.

Once they were inside, Arthur dropped his bag by the door and headed towards the kitchen. “What do you-?” he began before realising Alfred hadn't followed. He turned and folded his arms as Alfred hovered by the – closed – living room door. “What are you doing?”

“Can't I sit down? I'm super tired from the day, y'know?” Alfred pouted and begged with his eyes to which Arthur rolled his own.

“Fine. But don't mess with anything.” He stomped off down the hall, almost knocking over a table with the telephone. After all, how was he supposed to swallow a bottle of pills with Alfred in his hair. Well, he would just have to give him something to drink quickly before shoving him out of the door. It wasn't until he had pulled out two gleaming glasses from a cupboard that he remembered that Alfred hadn't told him what he wanted to drink. Sighing, he made his way back along the hall.

When he reached the door, he was surprised to find it firmly closed. He found that odd: Alfred didn't strike him as the closing doors kind of person. Shaking his head, he grabbed the stubborn handle, pushed down and then shoved the door open.

“Hey. What do you-”

He broke off as he took in the crowd of people standing in his living room. There was a banner above them but he could only stare at the sea of familiar faces. Then there were cheers and yelling and, somehow, he managed to decipher what they were saying: “Surprise! Happy birthday!” Arthur froze, a confused whirl of thoughts in his head. It appeared no-one had forgotten. In fact, there were several people from school there, too. They had done all this, decorated the room with banners and streamers, baked a cake while he had thought the worst of them.

And he had almost let all their efforts go to waste. He had almost killed himself. All of his self-hatred, worry and pain came crashing back down on him in one fell swoop and, this time, he couldn't stop his tears. In fact, he had to cover his mouth in an attempt to stop the loud sobs.

“Ah, he is overwhelmed by what we have done for him,” Francis declared, smiling widely.

However, Arthur could feel that he wasn't going to stop crying any time soon and frantically shook his head. In an instant, his mother was beside him as he felt his knees buckle. She held him up as she quickly interrogated him. “What's wrong? Did something happen at school today? Do you not want a party? We can send everyone home, darling.”

Arthur shook his head again, trying to push his mum away. “N-No,” he gasped out before he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought you'd forgotten. I thought you all _hated_ me.”

Gasping, Mrs. Kirkland gripped his shoulder. “What? Why would you think that?”

To make her understand, Arthur began to list all the insults he had been told over the past few months, all of the ones which had felt like daggers to his heart. “I'm ugly and useless and untalented and a jerk and I-”

“No!” exclaimed his mother as Mr. Kirkland then came forward, looking extremely concerned.

“Nobody likes me! I have no friends-”

“But, Artie,” Alfred interrupted him, his eyes wide. Arthur wondered if he had figured out what he had really been on the roof for or if he was just surprised at Arthur's breakdown. “Look at all the people who came. Why would you say you don't have friends?”

“They make fun of me, too!” Which was true. A few of the people in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, their eyes a little unfocused as though they were thinking of all the times they had said something insulting.

“It was just teasing,” Gilbert piped up. “Friendly teasing. We didn't say anything to make you feel bad...”

“Well, it did!” snapped Arthur, standing a little straighter and pushing his mum away. There were still tears falling down his cheeks and he sniffed a few times before he could continue. “It hurts! So I wanted it to stop. And I went up to the roof to _make_ it stop-”

“Arthur!” shrieked his mother before she threw herself at him. Before Arthur could tumble to the ground, his father wrapped his arms around the both of them in a tight hug. He couldn't take this level of comfort after spending weeks trying to push people away from him and he began to cry again. It was ugly and he wailed and sobbed as he was pulled out of the room.

* * *

 

Once he had been sat in a chair in the kitchen, Arthur had calmed down a little and admitted to his parents how he had been feeling lately. It was awkward and difficult but he managed it and they instantly got him a doctor's appointment for the next day. He was to take the day off, they said. Arthur was grateful – perhaps he could sleep in longer and be less tired during the day.

In light of Arthur's confession, his brothers had sent home the guests. Only three remained when Arthur returned to the living room and sent his brothers through to the kitchen to speak with his parents. Francis, Matthew and Alfred were all tidying up, taking down decorations and making the pile of presents more stable. Arthur felt terribly guilty upon noticing the variously coloured parcels.

“I'm sorry,” he told them as he collapsed onto the sofa. “You don't need to stay.”

The trio glanced at each other before Alfred broke away from them, grabbing a gift and coming over to Arthur. He sat beside him and turned to Arthur, placing the present behind him. “Listen, Arthur, I know we haven't really talked much-”

“That's an understatement.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. He still didn't really understand why the quarterback was there.

“Well, uh, see...” Alfred trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous way. A faint blush spread across Alfred's cheeks and Arthur blinked in surprise, sitting straighter. “I know we didn't get off to the greatest start but I've always wanted to be friends. But... you just thought I'd be mean like the others, right? I mean, I'm sorry about them. And I'd totally ditch them but they're my friends, too, and they can be nice but they're just really defensive and-”

“Alfred,” said Arthur, using his name for the first time. It surprised both him and Alfred as he paused: Alfred looked delighted, a smile spreading as fast as his blush. “It's not your fault. It's me. This has nothing to do with you.”

At first, it looked as though Alfred was going to argue. Then he suddenly held out his hand. “Well, if you say so. But let's be friends now.”

“I-”

“I just wanna make sure you're all right, 'kay? I'll watch over you while you're at school. I'll make sure you don't go to the roof again.”

Arthur grimaced and Alfred's eyes widened. He immediately flailed, stumbling over an apology. Blinking, Arthur had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at his antics. Instead, he thought about his proposal. Although he didn't really want to become friendly with people again (he felt as though he had already failed his friends, if he still had any, if he had had any to begin with), Alfred _had_ saved him. And he seemed to be quite earnest in his offer of friendship.

As one of Alfred's hands came close enough, Arthur grabbed it and shook it. “Fine. We can be friends.”

“R-Really?” asked Alfred, frozen, his eyes wider than before.

“Yes. And thank you. You saved me; you're my hero, I suppose.” Arthur snorted at his own description although Alfred seemed enthralled.

“Really?” he breathed. Slowly, he began to grin. “Awesome! Then you gotta open my present. And then I'll leave you to sort things out and stuff.” With that, he brought the present out and dropped it onto Arthur's lap. Whatever was inside was large and heavy and Arthur let out an “Oof!” of surprise.

“You didn't need-”

“Just open it!” cried Alfred, bouncing beside him in excitement.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur obliged, carefully peeling off the Captain America wrapping paper. Beside him, Alfred babbled about how it was the only paper they had had in the house. Arthur merely shrugged and pulled a large, leather-bound book from the debris. It had a golden border and its letters had been written in calligraphy, each letter as gold as its border. A small red ribbon peeked out from between the pages. He gasped when he saw what it was: the complete works of Shakespeare.

“Have you already got one?” asked Alfred, seeming quite worried.

“No, I- You shouldn't have – surely this was expensive?”

“Eh, it doesn't matter.” Alfred grabbed the cover and pulled it open (almost causing Arthur to have a coronary – you can't be that rough with books, especially expensive ones!). Letting it fall to a random page, he pointed at it. “Look, it even has notes so the average layman can read it, y'know. Not that _you'll_ need it.”

“What? What do you mean?” Arthur frowned at him.

“You're in a really great English Lit class, right? I bet you're real clever.” Alfred beamed at him.

“I'm... not _that_ -”

Suddenly, Alfred jumped up. “We should get going. I betcha have a lot of stuff to talk to your family about and everything.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose I do,” sighed Arthur, keeping his gaze on the beautiful book. It _was_ a lovely gesture and it gave him some form of relief that there were people out there who knew him, if only a little.

“Besides, we should totally figure out something fun to do for the weekend,” said Alfred. Arthur almost got whiplash when he lifted his head in surprise. “You like bowling?”

“Uh, yes?” Arthur replied, a little hesitantly.

“Cool. See you tomorrow!” And Alfred was gone, dragging Matthew and Francis (who waved at Arthur) with him.

* * *

 

Another 23rd of April had arrived and Arthur was back on the roof. He was watching the other students leaving for the day. It was odd how nothing had changed yet everything had. The sound of chattering and yells, excitement for the weekend ahead reached him but he largely ignored them, revelling in the breeze which was ruffling his hair.

Then he turned and surveyed the plants he had been watering. They seemed to have had enough and he swung the watering can over to the next tub, this one filled with Gold Flame honeysuckle. Arthur was glad that the school had allowed him to build this over the last year. Gardening had actually helped him to feel useful and relieved the stress from school work and his academic future.

Bright sunlight beat down on him and he was actually feeling rather warm, despite his blazer being slung over the bench and his sleeves rolled up as far as they would go. He would take it off but he had a feeling a certain someone would appear and he didn't want their teasing. So he would keep it on, for now. The thick, black wristband he was wearing on his left wrist, though, was another story. It should be simple to take it off.

But it had been almost a whole year now since he had been without it in school and he was still rather uneasy about what was underneath.

Everyone had told him he could take it off in front of other people. No-one would think any differently of him, they said. It would actually help, said his therapist. However, Arthur had never been able to do it, not in front of people he didn't know well enough.

Then again, he was mostly in the school on his own...

Placing the can down, he slipped a finger beneath it, took a breath, and pulled it off, deliberately not looking at the underside. Well, that was a lot better. Smiling now, he tucked the wristband into his pocket and went back to his task. Feeling rather peaceful, he even began to hum a song which had been stuck in his head recently.

Without warning, a pair of arms slid around his waist and a body was pressed against him. A chin settled onto his right shoulder as Arthur wobbled, a little startled. “Hey, whatcha doing up here?” asked Alfred into Arthur's ear.

Rolling his eyes, even though Alfred couldn't see, Arthur said, “If you hadn't noticed, it's not rained in a few days. Plants need water to live.”

“Oh. Yeah, right.” Alfred paused, leaning his head against Arthur's. “But it's your birthday. Get someone else in the Garden Club to do it.”

“They're busy.”

“So? So are you.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that. “Am I now? If I recall, I'm in no hurry to get home. My parents are on a cruise, my brothers are at some sort of amusement park with my _other_ brother and the other ones are out of the country. What have I got to do today?”

“Me,” said Alfred, the grin clear in his voice. Arthur grunted and used his left hand to whack Alfred's forehead. “Hey!” he cried as Arthur chuckled and began to lower his hand. Alfred stopped him, though, one of his arms leaving its place around Arthur to grab his wrist. “You're not wearing your wristband.”

“It was hot,” mumbled Arthur, glancing at it. He could clearly see the scar and he shifted uncomfortably. “And no-one was around.” With a slight tug, he tried to remove his arm from Alfred's grip.

Instead, Alfred gently pulled it towards him and Arthur felt lips press against the scar. “I'm glad,” Alfred said, softly, not at his usual volume at all. Arthur's breath caught, surprised.

“Glad? About what? That I took off the wristband or that you managed to save me a second time?”

Chuckling against Arthur's wrist, Alfred kissed it once more before letting go. “Both.”

“I see. Well...” Arthur slipped out of Alfred's embrace and moved onwards, pausing in front of some lavender. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no worries. What I _am_ worried about is us missing the reservations.”

“Reservations?” Arthur turned to stare at the tall American, that ever-familiar grin lighting up his eyes. “What reservations?”

“You'll find out – c'mon! We gotta go get changed and stuff and then I need to drive you to it and I still needta give you your present and-”

“Al!” cried Arthur. “I still have to-”

“Oh, don't worry 'bout that.” Alfred turned to face the door at the other end of the roof. “Hey, Winny! Come out!”

A small redhead emerged from behind it, blushing furiously. Her skirt whipped at her legs as the wind blew through the reinforced fence. She hurried forward, keeping her gaze firmly on the ground. “H-Here!” she said in a squeaky, nervous voice.

“Winny here is gonna take over, aintcha?”

The poor girl nodded and held out her hands. Before Arthur could really protest, Alfred plucked the watering can from his hand and dropped it into hers: she nearly let it slip. Then Arthur's arm was grabbed and Alfred pulled him off, grabbing his jacket and bag on the way past the bench.

“Hey! You can't just bully freshmen into doing things for you!” Arthur exclaimed, stumbling after Alfred.

“I didn't bully her. I asked nicely.” Alfred flashed him a cheeky grin and continued to drag him along the hall.

“Honestly,” sighed Arthur, shaking his head. His boyfriend was unbelievable – in more ways than one, of course. “Could you at least slow down so I can keep up?”

“You go too slow,” said Alfred before coming to a halt. Arthur actually took a couple of steps past him before looking back in confusion. “But I've got an idea!” And, with that, he grabbed Arthur's waist, lifted him and threw him over his shoulder.

Arthur shrieked. “Alfred F. Jones! You put me down right now!” His protests and laughter could be heard throughout the school.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to point out that, though it's not mentioned, Arthur is actually taking medication and is not 'cured' or anything.
> 
> I am not good at insulting my favourite character, either, apparently...


End file.
